The horror of what he had seen did not register at first. What did was that this was the last locked dungeon, and neither Chara nor Wullis Swainham was here.
He had failed.
Kaelin struggled for calm. His plan had worked perfectly to this point, and he had penetrated the keep without being caught. Yet it was all pointless now. He tried to think clearly. If she was not in the dungeon of the keep, where would she be? Were there other cells? He had no way of knowing, and the thought of failure was bitter.
Then he heard sounds upon the stairs. Kaelin swore softly and ran to the dead guard, grabbing him by the arms and hauling him from his chair. Swiftly he dragged the body into one of the empty cells. Moving back into the corridor he saw that blood had drenched the table and the floor beneath. The dead guard’s cloak was hanging on a hook. Wrenching it clear he draped it over the table, just as two guards came into sight, half carrying a prisoner. The soldiers were not wearing breastplates or swords, though both had sheathed daggers at their waists.
The prisoner was Chara. Her face was swollen, the lower lip split and bleeding. Her clothes were torn, the leggings half open at the waist, exposing her belly and right hip. Anger flowed through Kaelin, but he fought for calm.
‘Where is Bay?’ asked one of the guards.
‘He had a bad throat,’ said Kaelin. ‘I’m standing in for him.’
‘Your lucky night,’ said the second. ‘You get a nice piece of a highland arse. Course it comes used, if you know what I mean.’ The man laughed. Kaelin saw Chara’s swollen eyes open, and she looked up at him.
‘It is your lucky night too,’ he told the guards, moving closer. ‘But not all luck is good.’ As he stepped in he put his hand behind his back, drawing the knife from his belt. Chara began to struggle. Both men looked away from Kaelin. The knife plunged into the chest of the first, passing between the ribs and skewering the heart. Chara rammed her head into the face of the second man. He staggered back. Releasing the knife Kaelin drew his sabre. The man let go of Chara and turned to run. Kaelin caught him, bearing him to the ground. The soldier’s face struck the stone floor, smashing his teeth. He cried out. Kaelin dropped his sabre and knelt on the man’s back, his hands tight around the guard’s throat. The soldier struggled for a few moments, then went limp. Kaelin did not move, and continued squeezing the throat until he was sure the guard was dead. Then he pushed himself to his feet.
Chara was sitting on the floor, her back to the wall. ‘We must get out of here,’ he said. ‘Can you walk?’ He reached for her.
‘Don’t touch me,’ she snapped. She closed her eyes and drew in several deep breaths. ‘I can walk.’
Kaelin lifted the gaoler’s breastplate from the floor. ‘Get into this. I will buckle it.’
‘I can do that myself,’ she replied, her voice cold and distant. Kaelin lifted the blood-drenched cloak from the table.
‘Tie this on. It will not pass close muster, but the guards on the battlements may be fooled.’
Chara did so and Kaelin led her up the circular stairs, pausing in the doorway at the top and listening. There were still sounds from the mess hall above, but they were muted now.
‘Let’s go,’ he said, moving out through the keep doors and onto the parade ground.
The walk to the gatehouse seemed interminable. He tried not to look at the sentries on the wall. Then he saw one of them wave. Kaelin waved back.
Rayster was waiting. He saw the injuries to Chara’s face and his mouth tightened. ‘They’ll pay for this,’ he promised.
‘Some of them already have,’ said Kaelin. Moving inside the gatehouse he tore off the breastplate and put on his black greatcoat. Then he retrieved his pistols, pushed them into his belt and stepped back out into the night. ‘Now let’s be gone,’ he said.
Easing open the gate the three highlanders crossed the drawbridge and moved towards open ground. Kaelin’s mouth was dry. At any second he expected to hear a sentry call out for them to stop. He imagined long muskets trained on them, lead shot ripping into flesh. Into his mind’s eye leapt the image of the mutilated man in the cells. Kaelin shivered and walked on.